Spawning More Questions
by thelinksthatconnectus
Summary: Batman had Robin. Who said The Riddler couldn't have his own devoted sidekick? An Enigma origin story, AU
1. Chapter 1

Time had slowed, hours turning into days. Then, just as quickly, after countless hospital machines had beeped in his ears and nurses had questioned him, time had quickened its pace once more. Every moment that had led up to then had all been for this one single moment.

"She has your nose," a nurse commented.

Edward looked down. Yes, he supposed that she did, though just barely. For the most part it was small, just like everything else about her. Even her eyes, a bright blue shade, were small and closed. Only after a few years would their resemblance really start to show.

Less than two pounds, barely heavier than some of his hardcover. She was so small, little in every possible way, her skin a bright red shade and her small hands locked together.

"We need her back now," another nurse said.

Edward nodded. He held her for a moment longer, if only to watch her. She moved slowly, not enough to make him think that there was something wrong with her, but enough to prove the doctor's words.

"Those machines that she'll be hooked up to," he said. "Exactly how long will she be hooked up to them?"

"We can't be sure," a blond nurse replied. She smiled at the child and took her from his arms. "Let's just hope that she doesn't need to be on them very long."

Edward looked back down to the small bundle in her arms, to the little girl wrapped in blankets. It was a miracle that she wasn't hooked up to the machines already, not with the way that the doctors and nurses had made such a fuss over her.

Answers, that was all he ever wanted. Why couldn't he get any then?

"She'll be okay, won't she?" he asked.

"It's nothing too serious so long as she's cared for. You know how it is; you always have to be careful."

Edward nodded.

The nurses left the room. Edward looked towards the bed. Jillian was still passed out, whether due to pure exhaustion or the medicine that she was hooked up to. She looked so different hooked up, more like an idea of a person than an actual one. Her hair was just too messy, her skin too pale, and her body too limp. If she saw a picture of herself she surely wouldn't recognize herself. That wasn't the look of who she wanted to be.

That was the look of an anybody.

Edward looked away from her. There was no point in worrying; they had worked out the arrangements long before she had ever arrived at the hospital nearly a day before. Once she recovered, she would be out the door. Perhaps Edward would be lucky as well; maybe he would get to go home soon rather than spending his next few days with his back glued to the hospital's hard plastic chair.

A nurse, a different one than the two before, came in holding a clipboard. She had pale skin and neat, wrinkle free clothing. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and her hands were held around a clipboard.

"Mister Nygma?"

Edward nodded. "Is something the matter?"

"No," she replied. "We just need to work out a few more details. It's legal matters, but nothing serious."

He nodded once more. "What do you need?"

"Information," she said. "About you and your daughter."

"What do you mean? I've already filled out countless forms."

"Well, for one thing we need the child's name. Everyone keeps trying to put down a first name and yet all we have is Nygma."

"Oh," he replied.

"Perhaps it's just a mistake, some problem with the system. Children have names after all." She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "They say that a name is the first step in determining what kind of a person a child will grow up to be."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "They do?" He had certainly never heard it before.

"Oh yes," she said, clicking the end of her pen. "What do you think that your daughter will be like?"

"I'm not sure yet." Hopefully she would lose the red tint to her skin and grow a few inches.

"Well then," the nurse replied, "who do you think that she'll be like?"

Edward absently looked to the hospital bed, his lap, and then back up at the nurse. "Good question."

* * *

In the five days that Edward Nygma had been at Arkham Asylum, he had memorized every inch of his holding cell. From the cracks in the ceiling to the smudges on the bulletproof glass, keeping him locked inside of a transparent cage like an animal at a zoo.

Maybe that was how the guards felt whenever they walked past. Edward just another one of the countless prisoners, waiting for a reformation that he doubted would ever come. Perhaps the guards sneered, safe from being trapped inside the confining walls.

He didn't need five days to memorize what was around him. It had taken him less than a day when he had first arrived and since then had noticed small differences - the slight wrinkling of his cot's mattress whenever he slept on it, the slight smudges in the otherwise shiny floor whenever he walked on it, the little marks that he had scratched into the wall. The room changed around him, because of him; he supposed that he should get used to the place. Though he had managed to get himself a light sentence, he still had to get good behavior if he wanted out anytime soon.

At least if he wanted to get out legally.

Already, he could notice flaws in the system, cracks that the guards couldn't notice - all he needed to do was exploit those and he would be out in no time.

Edward picked up a small crossword puzzle book, something that he had picked up earlier. It had been given to him by one of his doctors as a way to help pass the time; everyone got something, though many didn't use it like Edward did.

The Joker has probably already escaped by now, Edward thought. His pencil hung just above a row of boxes about a seven letter flightless bird.

Ostrich, he thought. Too easy.

He supposed he could escape within hours if he tried hard enough. It wasn't as if there was anyone there that could outsmart him, at least anyone that wasn't also locked away in a cell. Arkham was a bore anyway; why hadn't the place been torn down yet?

It's not as if it can actually hold me, he thought.

A six letter word that describes feeling of homeliness.

Quaint, he thought.

That hardly described Arkham.

There was a stirring outside of his cell, an echoing sound of footsteps. Edward looked up, his pencil still hovering over the book below him.

A few guards walked down the halls followed by a group of white clad nurses pushing a rolling cart.

So that's what they were talking about during recreation, Edward thought.

He had expected the mail cart to be smaller and a bit less obvious. Making its weekly rounds, the mail cart was in fact rather large, its wheels squeaking and the faded medal partially rusted. It was covered in envelopes that surprisingly hadn't all flown off yet.

The cart whizzed past him, never stopping.

Edward's frown deepened. Quickly, he grabbed his book up again.

Jonathan had warned him about Arkham; from horror stories fit to be told only by the self proclaimed master of fear, to warnings that it would be incredibly boring ("a waste of time," Jonathan had commented, "and the people running it know it"), he hadn't sugar coated anything. Still, being in it was different from what he had heard.

Quaint, no, but perhaps, if he was careful-

He shook his head. A few days inside would at least make it look like he was trying. If he ever did escape and then get thrown back in, a past early escape would hardly please the judge.

Be patient, he thought. After all, don't good things come to those who wait?

* * *

It was an unusually quiet night. Emily was silent for the longest time, never awakening with her usual cry. For once, Edward's muscles weren't cramped from running to the kitchen to get Emily's bottles and then back to her room. There were no diapers to clean, nor any rocking to be done.

The only way it could have been better were if Edward were actually able to get some sleep.

He sighed. As heavy as his eyes were, sleep had evaded him for hours. Now, deep into the night, it still seemed as if he wouldn't be getting any real shut eye anytime soon.

Just stay focused, he reminded himself, looking back down to the book that he was reading.

Hours of trying to sleep but failing had forced him awake. There were still things to be done.

Perhaps, he thought after finishing another chapter of the mystery novel that he was reading (though, judging at least by how easy it was to figure out which character had stolen the cash it could hardly be called a mystery) and placing in a bookmark, I should go check on her. Maybe something was wrong and he didn't realize it.

Standing up, he stretched out his arms and legs and yawned. Perhaps if he stood up a bit longer then he would finally tire himself out enough to allow himself to go to sleep again.

He took slow, careful steps down the hall until reaching the door at the far right end of the hall. His apartment was small, only having two bedrooms, enough for the both of them. Slowly, he pushed the door in and used the dim light from the hall to illuminate the room. Each step was careful and slow; though the floor was carpeted, some strange part of him, that part that worried (no matter how irrational the fear), made him walk carefully, lest a sound break through the thick silence.

Emily lay asleep beneath a pile of blankets, clutching at a teddy bear. In six months, she had gained a good deal of weight, as if to make up for how small she had been when she had first arrived in the world. Her skin had lost its red touch and a bits of red hair had started to pop up on her head, not much but enough that it was instantly noticeable.

She stirred slightly in her sleep, but not enough to indicate that anything was wrong. How long he stood and stared down at her, he couldn't be sure.

It was hard to believe that he had once been like that, so small and so vulnerable. Had he been anything like Emily, then he would have been picking his house apart and trying to touch every object in his eyesight and eating second helpings of baby food.

His hands leaned forward, almost involuntarily, and hovered just inches above her head. It would have been so simple, moving one red, curly lock from her forehead, but enough that the small child would have awoken. Noise bothered her and she was careful about what she touched; once she touched something new, she quickly dropped it if she didn't like how it felt.

There was no point in waking the only other person in the house.

Edward took one last look at her and then turned and walked out of the room, slowly shutting the door behind him. He yawned again and slowly walked towards his bedroom; if he was ever going to sleep that night, then it was likely right around then.

* * *

"Mr. Nygma," Dr. Martin said. She was a tall woman, with ebony brown skin and dark eyes which sat behind thick framed glasses. Her office was small and filled with books of varying lengths and a wide amount of subjects - everything from the typical psychologist handbooks to what looked to be romance and science fiction novels. She held her hand out. "I have heard quite a bit about you."

Edward took her hand and gave it a firm shake. "Yes, I suppose that you would."

She lowered her eyebrows but made no comment, merely gestured towards the door. "Come inside," she said. "We have a bit to discuss, along with some items that I believe belong to you."

Edward tightened his fists. He had been informed earlier that some of his items, pictures, a few books, and other small items had been kept with the police and he could only get them back under the approval of an Arkham supervisor's permission.

Good, he thought.

"Might I see some of the items now?" Edward asked. "I do not mean to take them from you, but I wish to see a few things."

"I suppose," she responded. She opened her desk. "What might you be wanting to see?"

"Oh, just some pictures," he said.

She nodded before pulling them from her desk and handing them over. "Your daughter, I presume."

Edward nodded.

"I've read quite a bit about her."

Edward stiffened. "How?"

"I phrased that incorrectly," she said, holding her hands up. "I apologize. She was just mentioned quite a few times near the end of your file. It seems that there was a controversy a few years back."

He chuckled. "Yes, doctor, I suppose that you could call it that."

"What do you mean?"

He liked this doctor. Not only had she given him his photos without question, she also didn't bother him with unnecessary questions. No asking about his crime or the motives behind it, no unnecessary practices passed down from founding psychologists long ago dead.

"It's actually quite a story, which happened just after my daughter was born. Had I had it my way, things would have been different."

She raised an eyebrow. "How exactly would you have changed things?"

"I own it," he began, waving his hand in the air, "but other people use it far more than I do."

She smirked. "I was told you were quite fond of riddles."

"Surely the name would have tipped you off."

She paused for a moment. "The answer?"

"You can't figure it out?"

"I could wait, but that would take away time from you getting your items."

"Your name." The words were out of his mouth almost as soon as she had finished speaking.

"Ah, I get it now."

"Had I had it my way," Edward said, taking in a breath and then letting it back out, "then Emily never would have had a name at all."

"But why?" Though her eyes locked on him, she lacked the hard look that Jillian had given him a few years prior. Even then, tired and exasperated in the hospital, she had managed to give him a look that made his bones quiver.

"I once heard a nurse say that a name helps to determine who a person is." He paused. "I'm E. Nygma, as is my daughter. Had things been different, then she would at most have had the last name of Nygma and nothing more, and even less if the last name had never been brought up. She wouldn't have been a nobody, but she wouldn't have had a name either. I suppose you could say that to others, at least to those who didn't know her such as myself, she would be a mystery."

"Interesting. But if you're so sure that giving her a name would partially determine who she was, wouldn't have not giving her one had done the same? You said it yourself that she would have been a mystery."

"I suppose that you are correct." He looked down to the photos, the ones that he kept with him at all times. Most depicted Emily still as a baby, though a few were more current. "I suppose that there's no way to raise a child and not leave some sort of stamp of yourself on them, especially in my case as a single parent. After all, fathers are what make a child who they are in the future." He paused. "I suppose that I just tried to do my best for her with what little I could do. Back then, it had seemed perfectly logical."

"Do you still believe that now?" Dr. Martin folded her hands on top of her desk. She lacked the judgment most had; if she was thinking harshly of him, her face hid it perfectly.

"Yes." He shrugged. "What's done is done I suppose. She's still E. Nygma, and though Emily is a common name, it is rather pretty. Did you know that it actually means 'to strive'? I would hardly call that a bad name for a girl."

"I never knew that." Dr. Martin smiled. "That is a wonderful name."

"Perhaps it will affect her," Edward commented. "Or maybe it already has."

* * *

Emily hugged the stuffed bear tighter to her chest. Across from her, Angela sat on her bed, waving a plastic doll around in the air as if it were a toy plane. Whatever game she was playing, it was obvious that she was not about to let Emily in on the details.

She looked back down to her bear. It was one of her oldest toys, something that she had owned since she was a baby, and the wear and tear showed. Stitches were coming loose, and patches that had to be repaired before would need a bit of extra work.

Absently, her eyes flashed up from her toy and back to the other girl across the room. She was still busy with whatever game she was playing, her eyes wide and arm moving quickly as she moved the doll throughout the air.

She's not my sister, Emily thought. The thought came out of nowhere, the words simply roaring through her mind.

It was true, wasn't it? Sisters weren't supposed to ignore you.

Emily placed her bear down and stood up from her bed. She walked over to her small nightstand and grabbed the worn book from where she had last left it - The Puzzler's Problem: Riddles, Enigmas, and Other Peculiar Problems. The book, though hardcover, was worn. The pages were yellow and some folded or slightly torn (nothing that tape couldn't fix). The spine had been cracked for as long as she could remember. Long before she had ever laid a finger on it, her father had gone through every page.

She sat back down on her bed and began to flip through it. Some of the questions she barely had to look at before solving the answer, ones that she had figured out long before, while others took time.

Though there is two of me I am worth only one. What am I?

Emily bit her lip. It wasn't that she didn't know how to answer it; she had a few ideas, but which could be the correct one?

She could always look at the answer in the back of course. It was the only part of the book that she had not looked through yet.

But you can't do that, she reminded herself. You have to figure it out yourself.

A knock came at the door, making Emily nearly drop her book. Angela wasn't as lucky and dropped her doll with a yelp. Emily had to hold back a laugh.

"Girls," came the voice from outside the hall.

"Yes, Ji-" Emily began before stopping herself. "Yes?"

"Dinner will be ready in five minutes. You two get washed up while I get Jasper out of his crib."

"Okay!" Angela called. She jumped off of her bed and ran towards the door. Within moments, she was outside and Emily could hear her the steady pounding of her feet, mixed with the creaking of wood, as she ran down the hallway.

Emily looked back down to her book, the question daunting on her. It was as if the very paper was looking at her, questioning her, trying to pry the answer from her brain.

"Emily!" Angela called. "Mommy says you have to wash your hands too!"

With a sigh, Emily closed her book.

* * *

The coin had to have landed on tails judging by the way that Harvey had started raving in the cell across from Edward's own. Edward could see him, a blur of black and white as he attacked at the meager belongings in his cell.

Looks like good behavior won't be getting him out any time soon, Edward thought. If Edward were to act even the tiniest bit like the man opposite him then his plans for early parole would slip through his finger like water or grains of sand.

Whatever Harvey saw in that coin, Edward had yet to understand. There was an answer, of course (wasn't there always an answer?), but until he found it then that would just be another riddle for him to try and solve, another way to pass the time in otherwise endless days.

He had heard about Harvey, of course, even voted for him a few years back. Back then, he had been on the news for things other than robberies and leading gangs.

Edward had heard about nearly everyone in his ward. This was the famous ward, the one that most every single one of Batman's foes was on. Perhaps they were segregated for special means, something to stir up the gossip around Arkham. Maybe it was part of Batman's doing - one single fight with him and Edward was stuck where all the rest of the rogues went.

But that didn't make sense, at least not from Batman's standing point. No, the bat was smarter than that. No, it had to have been Arkham which did that, Arkham which may as well have had no brain; Arkham merely did as it pleased.

In a way, it was not nearly as bad as Jonathan had originally described, though it might have simply been the newly decorated walls of Edward's cell making him think that. He looked over to some of the pictures and smiled.

It would be a few days before he would be allowed his phone call, but until then his photos would hold him over.


	2. Chapter 2

There was one less person in the Arkham rec room that day. Edward would have asked what was going on, but the weeping Harley sprawled across the faded green couch in front of the TV said enough. The extra guards posted around the doors simply drove home the point.

And we didn't even hear any alarms this time, Edward thought.

Jonathan had mentioned it before, once after a mission.

"But if he can get out, surely we can as well," he said. He had chuckled, a gleam in his eyes. "It's really not as hard as it looks. Once you get in and get to know the place, you learn about the places that the workers don't know about, the cracks that you can slip through."

The rec room was quieter than usual. Most had their heads down, their eyes on the books in their hands or at the wall. Even Jonathan and Jervis seemed lost in their own worlds, neither moving their chess pieces.

Edward's eyes wandered from them to the small phone at the end of room. It was in the corner, housed between two small pieces of wood, made of old, faded metal. Beneath it was a dusty, ancient phone book that looked as though it were heavier than a brick.

With quick steps, he walked towards the phone, never slowing even as the guards' gazes locked on him.

The corner was slightly darker than the rest of the room, the fluorescent lights above having burnt out long before. Few ever went back there; most of the wretched lot inside either had no one at all or the people they were close to were in their at well.

Or, at least in Harley's case, used to be there. Knowing The Joker, he would be back in after a few buildings fell or the Bat-Signal got fired a few times. In fact, the only person that Edward knew had ever come over here willingly was Two-Face, whose hands had shook as he flipped his coin to decide if he would ever actually pick the phone up.

It wouldn't have surprised Edward if the phone turned out to be older than he was. Everything in the building was old, the asylum a sort of living museum to everything that Gotham wanted to hide away.

Just relax, Edward thought. You aren't always going to be an exhibit here.

He dialed the number as quickly as he could, his legs jiggling as he waited for the phone to stop ringing.

"Hello, who is this?"

"Jillian?"

There was a pause. "Edward? What happened? Why are you calling?"

"Nothing happened, I just called to see if Emily is home and if I could see her."

"Oh," she said.

"I'm calling from Arkham."

Jillian sighed. "I see."

Edward bit his lip, gripping the phone tighter.

"I just didn't expect a call, that's all. Yes, Emily is home. I just picked her and Angela up from school earlier." There was a pause and then a shuffling sound. "Emily!"

Another shuffle and footsteps.

Edward had done other phone calls before, scheduled ones. His doctors had specifically told Jillian, who could then inform Emily, in advance; he could only hope that she hadn't tried to coach the girl on what to say during the call.

This time, there was no warning, no plan. Despite himself, Edward grinned.

Control was a rare thing at Arkham, at least in the hands of someone as new as him. No wonder the older patients all fought like starving dogs to get whatever scraps of it they could.

"Daddy?"

Edward paused for a moment, unsure of how to respond. It wasn't that he lacked the words to say, but that he had so many, millions of words that had simply been held in his mind and only now could be released.

"Emily?"

"Daddy!"

Edward gripped the phone tighter. "Emily, how are you doing? Have things been going well for you?"

"I lost a tooth," she said.

He smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah! It's my third one lost!"

"Your third? Wow." He paused, lightly rubbing his chin. "Let's see… The more you take from me, the bigger I get. What am I?"

"A hole!" Her reply came in seconds. That was an easy riddle, one that he had first asked her when she was only a toddler.

"Correct," he said. "Keep losing teeth and your mouth will be full of them."

Emily laughed. "I promise not to wiggle my loose one then."

"I'll hold you to that. So, how has school been going?"

"My teacher likes me!" Emily's voice rose.

"That hardly surprises me."

"She says I write too messy though."

"Just keep practicing," he said. "And don't worry, there is surely worse handwriting out there." He had thought doctors with chicken scratch handwriting was a myth, at least until he saw some of the doctor's medical notes. It had taken him a while just to figure out that they had been writing in English, let alone what they had been saying about him.

"I will!" She paused, and just before Edward could fill in the silence she spoke again, her voice low.. "Daddy, can I ask you something?"

"What, sweetie?"

"Mommy says that you're in the hospital, that you're sick."

"Well," he responded, "yes."

At least she knew what was going on with him. Now sick? He wouldn't label himself that, though the doctors (most of those working at Arkham could only have the term loosely applied to them) certainly had; it was the easiest way to get him locked in there, one less rogue for Batman to deal with and one less person that the Gotham City Police Department had to worry about.

"Why can't I come visit you? My friend Lizzie broke her arm and had to go to the hospital for three days! I got to visit her, and while I was there I got her a get well teddy bear. She got lots of those and flowers." Her voice lowered even more, so low that he had to strain to hear her. She sniffled. "Why can't I do that for you? How come I'm not allowed to go to the hospital?"

The last of the rec room's noise faded away-Harley's sobs, various moans, guards' grumbles-until the sound of the sniffling on the phone filled every part of Edward's ears.

"I…" he began.

I don't think that a teddy bear could do much for me, Edward thought.

He had to be careful what he said with all the guards around. There was no freedom of speech, not in Arkham. The place was old, trapped in a mix of 1894 and 1984.

"I'm at a special hospital, dear." It wasn't a lie, just not the whole truth. She was a smart girl, surely she could understand, at least maybe someday.

"Why? Are you going to die, Daddy?" Her voice rose in a sharp squeal. "Please don't die!"

"Of course not!" He sighed. "Emily, I can't explain it to you right now. I just want you to know that I'm thinking of you."

More footsteps came.

"Edward?"

"Jillian?"

"What happened? Emily started acting weird, began to yell. Did something happen?"

Edward flinched. Had he not been forced to wear long sleeves, he might have felt a chill at the sudden ice in her tone. "No, she just asked me what I was doing here, why I was sick. She asked if I was dying."

"Oh." Jillian's voice lowered.

"Have you told her?"

"No!" She sighed. "You know I can't."

You could, Edward thought, though he supposed that even she couldn't get all the details correctly.

"I apologize," she said before pausing. "I just got worried when I heard her yell and rushed in to check on her."

"Thank you for looking after her. I know that you…" He didn't have to say it; she had already said it for him nearly seven years before.

"She's doing well, asks about you every day." There was another pause. "Emily misses you. She likes her friends and school, even gets along with Angela and Brandon, but she has quite adjusted."

"I can understand that."

"I just want you to know that she's always thinking about you. Just a few days ago she brought home a stunning paper from school, everything correct, and asked if she could mail it to you. I haven't quite had the time to get to the post office yet."

Edward smiled. "If you could, please make the time."

"I will. Would you like to speak with her?"

Edward sighed. "Time is changing and I'll need to go soon. Things are stressful here at Arkham now, though I'm sure you've already heard about that from the news. I'll just have to call another time. Tell Emily I love her, alright?"

"Of course."

"Thank you, Jillian, for everything."

* * *

He had hoped to get by early on good behavior, he truly had. Still, if that goon, that low life scum that had gotten thrown in here with his boss thought that he could call Edward a sap and pretend to talk to someone on an imaginary phone, then he had something else coming.

There was no noise quite like the crunch that rang through the air when Edward's fist collided with his nose. Even hours later in the silence of his cell, Edward could still hear it echoing through his ears.

* * *

Dr. Martin was one of the few doctors in Arkham who actually deserved the title. Still, for once Edward did not look her in the eyes.

"I assume," she said, her voice filling her office, "that you know why you are in here today."

Today, there were two guards stationed inside with them.

Edward nodded, his eyes on his hands folded neatly on top of her desk.

"And I suppose that you have a reason for the incident that brought you here." Her voice was flat, neither angry nor approving, a tone that dug into Edward's skin.

He finally looked up. Though her voice held no feeling, she had one eyebrow slightly raised, her eyes locked on him. This was a puzzle that she alone could not solve, no matter how much she wanted to put the pieces together.

"Yes," he said. "Unlike most of the brutes here, I only use violence when I have a use for it. I have always preferred brains over brawn."

She blinked, once, twice. When she closed her eyes, for one moment he did not see the sharp pupils locked onto him.

"Well," she said after a moment, her voice filling the small room, "what is it? What happened in the rec room earlier?" For a moment, something filled her voice, something that broke free of the cold tone. Finally, there was something in her voice that wasn't as sterile and cold as the Arkham floors.

Curiosity, Edward thought, killed the cat.

Though he supposed that she had heard worse before. There was no doubt that she had other patients, and he doubted that most of the others only had a record of thievery.

Curious, yes, Edward thought, but why not just listen to the prisoners? Most of them talk a mile a minute.

No doubt word had spread across Arkham. Though the Joker's escape had certainly sped up the day, the lazy, bored feeling of an average Arkham day had mostly hung in the air. The punch had ripped through the air, faster than anything or anyone else in the room, sending the nurses into a frizzy and the caused the rest of the prisoners to yell. Had they had any cash, the money would have been on him.

Him, the riddle boy, the puzzle prince, skinny little Nygma. Whatever name they thought of next would be slapped on him in a heartbeat, and for once he would take it.

"He insulted my daughter." Edward clenched both of his fists, his fingernails digging into the palms of his skin. He could still see the bastard, red faced and unshaven, that sneer that was left on his lips only moments after he finished speaking. He had been all muscle, nothing but a goon who would never truly reform.

To him it had probably been a joke, a little lively commentary in the clown prince's absence.

The goon never did get to deliver the punch line.

"If you were in my case, you would understand, doctor." Edward folded his hands together. "You would know why I did it. I didn't want to fight him, at least not until he opened his mouth." He was babbling then, the words coming out faster and faster. His nails dug tighter into his skin, so sharp and so hard. How long had it been since he had trimmed his nails? He couldn't remember, but it felt like months.

"Edward," she said, her voice having returned to its cool tone, "I knew you had a reason." She looked him over once again but said nothing else.

Edward looked to her. Dr. Martin was a thin woman with few wrinkles, her skin a deep, dark brown. Her eyes said nothing that her mouth did not. She held herself with a straight back and pursed lips, her suit wrinkle free and glasses spotless. Would she have given the goon that same look? Could she truly have just stood there and watched, never moving a muscle save to tighten her gaze on the man before her?

There were too many possibilities, too many possible correct answers with no exact one.

"Someone had to teach that-" Edward stopped before he could let the word out. There were a thousand expletives he could throw out, little pieces of dynamite thrown into the wreckage just to break what was left of the rubble into a thousand more pieces. "I had to make him, and everyone around us watching, know what it meant to interfere with The Riddler-me-and my daughter."

"And you showed him," Dr. Martin replied.

"I showed him stars." Edward held his fists up yet unclenched them. The palms of his hands were bloody, not enough to warrant medical care but enough for him to notice the red stain spreading across his hands from the small half moons etched into his skin. "And I'll do it again if he ever tries to mess with me."

"Were you trying to prove that to him alone?" Her voice rose, though it was merely a louder form of the blank tone from before. "Or to everyone around you, everyone who saw you?"

"Well, yes-"

"Were you trying to prove it to yourself?"

Edward opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself, his eyes landing on her clock. It was close to time to leave, the time to get back to his cell before dinner got carried around. The time to try and stick the puzzle pieces of that day together and see what the big picture of the day really looked like. It wasn't as if he had the box's cover to check.

"I never thought I was proving myself, at least not back then. It was all about her, little Emily. Someone has to."

Dr. Martin folded her hands together, her fingers intertwining. "I can see that you are quite a protective man. That makes sense, especially in this situation." She raised an eyebrow. "But it leaves me with one important question. Why, Mr. Nigma, if you love her so much, do you continue doing this? How could this criminal lifestyle appeal to you when you have her to worry about?"

The clock ticked on but not fast enough. He could feel Dr. Martin's eyes on him. Not judging, not in the way that she looked at him; at this rate, she deserved a medal for being so disconnected.

"It wouldn't be fair to just give you an answer to that." Edward's eyes rumbled back to the clock. "A man can't spill all of his secrets at once. Besides, some riddles you just have to solve yourself."

* * *

Emily dug through the piles of newspaper left on the ground. Her class looked like it would be recycling a mountain of it. Across from her, her friend Natalie sat cross legged reading the comics. A few other students were running around the recycling center.

Wiping sweat from her brow, she glanced further down at the papers. She had seen his face, she was sure of it.

"Hey, Emily," Natalie suddenly called. "What are you looking for?"

Emily didn't reply. She had to focus, and there was no way to explain why she was digging through the newspaper. Natalie was her friend, but…

But this was her problem.

"Can I help?" she dropped her paper on the ground and stood up.

Emily shook her head.

"Aww," she replied.

Emily just kept moving. She had seen the paper earlier, she was sure of it.

She moved back a sports section and then stopped, hand frozen just above the paper.

"Scarecrow and Riddler caught," she read, whispering the words. "Villains apprehended."

The first picture, the large one showing a man covered by what looked like a potato sack and mask along with a man in a suit, didn't matter. What mattered were the pictures below, the ones that showed them holding signs with numbers on them.

Daddy, she thought. Her eyes wandered down the article.

* * *

She paged through the dictionary, the book heavy in her lap.

"Asylum," she read. "A noun." She put a bookmark in that page and then turned back towards the article. She had kept it with her all day, never letting go of it or showing it to anyone else during the field trip. It was her article and hers alone.

Arkham, she thought.

She began to flip pages, a few at first and then many. R was just before S and yet…

It's not there, she thought.

She flipped through a few more pages, her eyes wandering up and down the small text. It had to be there, it had to. Jillian had the biggest dictionaries, the kind that had the meaning of every word in the world inside.

Emily kept flipping, the words becoming a blur and mix of letters.

Arkham, Arkham, Arkham, the words repeated as a mantra in her head.

She jerked back away from the book suddenly and stared down at her hand. In it was the torn paper from the "a" section. Quickly, she pulled her bookmark out of it and stuffed the paper back in before closing the book. She shoved it back on the shelf, and then went back and grabbed the article.

Maybe Jillian's dictionary really didn't have all the answers in the world.


	3. Chapter 3

Edward's heart jumped in his chest when he saw the two guards at his door. He looked back down to the book of crossword puzzles in his hands and began to absently scribble on the margins. Even with the glass separating the three men, he could still feel the hard glare of four eyes on him.

"Nygma," one of them said. He was a tall Asian man, built hard and tall, all thick muscles and sharp edges. Edward hadn't seen him before; he was probably one of the new guys. There were always new guys at Arkham. Sometimes it seemed like the place couldn't get replacements fast enough.

"Nygma," the guy repeated.

Edward looked up. "Yes?"

"We need you."

"Well I need you too." Edward pursed his lips into a smile, looking from the tall guard to the man next to him. Smaller, thinner, and white, with a head full of bright red hair and light green eyes. He had his hand at his side, near his gun, yet his fingers never seemed to quite be reaching it.

Their gazes only tightened.

"Look," the big one said. "They told me that you like to play-"

"What can you find anywhere and everywhere, something that you need, between the poor and the rich?"

"We don't have time for this," the redhead spoke, his voice surprisingly gruff.

"Do you two need another hint?"

Edward could no longer tell which of the two was glaring harder.

Keep at it, he thought.

He should have known this wouldn't turn out well, not with the way everyone was trying to tighten security. For once it seemed like the place was actually trying to keep its inmates in, not let what happened with The Joker happened again.

But that would take a squealer, Edward thought. It's not as if we advertised our plan. He looked back down his crossword puzzle. Just keep like this, act like yourself; don't let them suspect anything else.

He picked up his pencil and began to fill in a horizontal column, an eight letter word referring to a feeling of unease.

"Hey, we need you out here. Doctor's orders!"

Edward looked back up. "You still haven't answered my question."

The buff one shook his head. "They told me this guy was a weirdo, but they didn't say that he was this bad."

"Look," the other said. "The doctor and some other lady want to see you, a visitor I think."

Edward's eyes widened. "A visitor?" He couldn't stop the words from leaving his lips.

"Yeah," one said. "Some lady came in today and wanted to see you, had some pictures with her of a little girl."

Edward stood up, leaving his crossword puzzle behind. The pencil was dropped to the floor and forgotten. He walked up to the door and waited for the guards to unlock it. For once, he hardly noticed their hard gazes or got angry when one bumped into him. The oafs didn't matter for once.

"What was it?" one of them, the redhead, asked.

"Huh?" Edward replied.

"The answer to that riddle you said earlier."

Edward had to keep himself from snorting; he was definitely a new guy too. "Now where would the fun be if I simply told you the answer?"

From what it looked like, Arkham had recently been cleaned. The floors were so shiny that Edward could see his reflection, which looked a bit too orange for his taste, and the place smelled even heavier of bleach and ammonia than usual. His shoes squeaked as he walked, and a few prisoners watched him as he walked past.

The visiting room was small, with just enough space for the doctor, Edward, Jillian, and a small table and chairs. The guards stood near the door, and Edward couldn't help but wish that they would step out. Already, the room felt near to bursting.

"Jillian," Edward said. "Hello."

She sat in a dark brown chair. Her jacket was bright red, a sharp and colorful contrast to the greys, whites, and browns of the room. Her hair was pulled back in a tight frown, her face looking thinner and tighter than when he had last seen her.

"Edward," she replied curtly. Her hands were folded together in her lap, resting over a manilla folder.

"Edward," Dr. Martin spoke, looking up to him. "Please take a seat. Your ex-wife-"

"We never married," Jillian interrupted.

"Excuse me, my mistake," she replied. She reached a hand up and pushed her glasses further up her nose. "Well, your visitor would like to speak with you. From what she explained to me earlier, it is quite serious."

Edward's heart beat against his chest.

Maybe there had been a squealer. Why Jillian would be there because of it he couldn't understand, but judging by how heavy her frown was, the look in her eyes...

No, he told himself. No one in the group would squeal, not if it would just mean that they would stay trapped in this hell hole even longer.

Edward sat down. The chair was hard and stiff, like just about every other piece of furniture in the building.

"What is it?" Jillian asked. "What made you tell her?"

Edward blinked for a few moments. Finally, once he had made himself sit up straighter and finally meet her in the eyes, he spoke again. "What do you mean?" He looked over to Doctor Martin, who merely raised an eyebrow of her own.

"Has he seen the photos?" she asked.

Jillian opened the manilla folder and pulled out a few photos before handing them over. They were crude, not on quality, glossy photo paper but printed straight from a computer. Judging by the color quality, the printer had probably been low on ink. Still, the color scheme was impossible to not recognize.

Green and purple, he thought.

They seemed to fit Emily as well they did him.

The suit was rather crude and looked to be a bit big on her. She was grinning from ear to ear at the camera, standing next to a few other girls who were also dressed up and holding orange plastic pumpkin buckets.

"Why did you tell her?" Jillian asked. "What did you do to her that made her think that, that this thing th,at you do is acceptable?"

Edward held the photo up. Yes, judging by the suit it had literally been painted; there were dark patches.

"I still don't understand," he replied.

"Three days ago her teacher emailed me about this, said that something happened at their Halloween party." Jillian's face tightened. She hadn't spoken like this to him in a long time, not since they had first turned rocky. "There were some boys there that had come there dressed up as Batman."

Edward's eyebrows lowered. "And I should know this why?"

The dark knight was a big enough problem already. Why did he have to hear about children dressing up as him?

"Perhaps I should explain," Doctor Martin said, turning towards him. "Your daughter came to school dressed up as you, which her mother was completely unaware of, and during the Halloween party had a fight with some of the boys."

"Whose nose got broken?" a guard suddenly asked.

Doctor Martin's eyes were as sharp as knives. "No one's nose was broken thankfully, though this playground scuffle did cause a few hurt feelings and got a teacher very concerned."

"I think it was a bit more than concerned," Jillian said. "If she were concerned than her phone call would have been only five to ten minutes rather than nearly an hour long." She sighed. "Emily went around asking the boys riddles, acting just like you. The boys got frustrated, nearly started throwing fists. Though she never physically struck, her teacher did mention that she nearly did hit them with a cane." She pulled another picture from her folder and reached across the table, handing it to him.

Edward held it up and looked it over. Yes, he would recognize that cane anywhere. It certainly wasn't nearly as fancy, a crude version of his, made of wood rather than metal and rather than being a gleaming gold, it was a dull painted yellow.

"She isn't supposed to act like you. I made sure she didn't know why you were here or why she was with me. When the police had me speak to you over the phone shortly after your arrest, we both made an agreement not to tell her. Don't you remember?" She wrinkled her nose.

Edward nodded.

"So I have this to ask: Why did you tell her?" Jillian asked, speaking before he could get a word in.

"I never did." In the few phone calls that he'd had with her, the last thing that he'd spoken about was why he had gotten inside.

"You never did?" Her voice rose. "Then what would possess her to dress up as you? When she said she needed green paint for her Halloween costume, I thought that the kid was dressing up as a witch or a monster, not-" She stopped suddenly in mid sentence. "Well, you and I both know what she went as instead."

"I never did tell her." Edward looked her directly in the eyes. "I just now know of this."

Jillian held the entire manilla folder out to him. "Just look inside of this; it'll give you all the answers."

Edward opened it and began to look over everything inside. Newspaper clipping after newspaper clipping was inside, some with only small reference to him and what had gotten him inside Arkham, while others looked to be stuff from the front page. Parts were underlines or messily highlighted.

"A little kid is obsessed with you," she said.

Edward's gaze tightened on the pictures below him. "That little kid you speak of is my daughter."

"Well she's my daughter too!"

Edward saw red. The papers fell to the floor, completely forgotten as he stood up and shot daggers. "Is that why you gave her up years ago and gave me sole custody without so much as a fight? You didn't seem to mind signing the forms to have her sent away with me, and the only thing that showed you even thought about her were you sending over child support money." He gritted his teeth. Had he not been caught then he doubted that she even would have thought about her at all. A few months with her and she thought that she was the kid's doting mother, the kind that had been looking out for her since birth. "You walked out of the hospital; I saw you. It was just like you had agreed with me. I did everything you wanted; you said you didn't want her, didn't want me, that you wanted a different life."

"Edward-"

"She's told me about your other kids, your new husband, that new life of yours. How's it going? Because from what Emily's told me, she doesn't seem to fit quite into that little life of yours that you wanted so badly. Now you get a reminder of who her father really is, why she doesn't fit into that perfect little life of yours, and you blame me." He clenched his fists, stepping closer to her. His knees bumped against the table. "She's a smart girl; she's my girl. If she wanted to know something then she'd find it out, and she clearly did."

There was silence.

"I did hand her over and we did agree on that." Jillian's eyes lowered. "And yes, I did have to adjust with her living with me, a woman that for years she had never met. I just thought..." She sighed.

This was always how it went with relationships. Things were great for a while, couldn't seem to get any better, and then everything just went downhill. Though his relationship with Jillian hadn't been the worst, not by any means (it had certainly been good enough that she hadn't objected to giving him Emily), it still had went down. Now there the two were, both on shaking ground. Sidney, Greg, Kristen, Tyler, Jillian… So many names, so many faces, all bits and pieces of people he had once thought that he'd known so well, puzzles that he thought he had solved.

"I suppose that I came off a bit accusatory." She sighed. "That was my fault. It's just that…"

"You're concerned," Doctor Martin said. "I am sure that anyone would be." Her eyes locked on Edward's. "I've spoken with Edward often and I can assure you that he thinks of his daughter every day. He shows a great devotion and care whenever he speaks of her."

Edward opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself. He looked back down to the photos.

"She thinks that you're fantastic," Jillian finally said. "When I went to pick her up that day at school, I could tell that. She wouldn't hit someone with a cane over just anybody."

Doctor Martin chuckled, the sound filling the room. Edward looked over to her; yes, she was truly laughing, a smile spread across her thick, full lips. "Edward, I believe that you should take that as a compliment."

* * *

"I apologize again," Jillian had said. The words rang over and over again in Edward's mind like a broken record. "Coming here seems like such a waste now, like I got so worked up over something that had such a simple explanation." Every part of her had looked tense then, as if she had wanted to get as far away from the place as possible. He couldn't blame her. "I suppose it's understandable, after all those years of you doing this alone. I suppose that it didn't seem like I cared."

It had taken Edward a while to reply then. Humans were so strange sometimes; most of the replies he had wanted to make could have been frowned on in some way.

"You did what you needed," he had replied. "To get what you wanted." In a way, he couldn't blame her for it. The two had worked together in the past to get what they both had wanted out of an unexpected experience, and he supposed that they could do it again.

Yet they had left after that in silence, with a tension so thick that Doctor Martin, a professional, could cut. She had tried to offer some advice before, after her laughing fit, but there was nothing that she (or likely anyone else) could have done after that.

He played and replayed the scene again and again. She had left the pictures with him, which were scattered on the floor of his cell.

For now, he couldn't look at them. He looked to his ceiling, as if it would somehow have the answers for him hidden between its cracks or behind its fluorescent light.

There were other things to think about. The plan that was slowly unfolding, the world that awaited him outside of Arkham's tight walls. There was an entire world waiting for him outside.

Jillian would probably hated him for what he had done out there. Maybe she already did.

Edward shook his head.

You're looking too deeply into this, he thought. There had been no sign that she hated him, even she did have some… Adjustments to make because of him.

And if she truly already didn't, then she surely would once he got outside in a few days.

Then again, she just might be relieved.

It was just so hard to tell with most others.

* * *

Not everyone had joined in the group with Edward and the others, but they had at least heard the news. Poison Ivy waved to Edward as a vine raised towards the sky and he waved back.

There was a certain honor among thieves at Arkham, an unspoken companionship that combined them all together. Edward looked over his shoulder to the building behind him; it truly was a shame that there were still some inside. They deserved better than that hell.

Ahead of him, Jonathan motioned towards him.

"Could you run any faster?" he asked.

Edward rolled his eyes. They had worked together before. He knew that Edward wasn't the running type.

Still, his brains alone weren't enough to get him out of Arkham. Edward picked up his pace. He could enjoy the feeling of being outside, of being free, later, once Arkham wasn't close enough to still see from the corner of his eye.

* * *

The safe house was on the edge of Gotham, a shabby place that looked as if it would have been completely forgotten were it not attended by its super villain guests. Edward collapsed into his mattress. The clothes he wore were old, a far cry from his suit. Who would have to pick those up later.

He would have a lot of things to do later. The others in the room seemed just as tired as him.

The group had turned out to be smaller than Edward had originally thought, just him and Jonathan and Jervis. He had thought that he had seen Harley running out earlier, but she had likely either been running after Ivy or heading to wherever she thought her "Mister J" had gone.

Edward had thought that he had heard that Two-Face was coming along with them. Maybe a flip of his coin had changed that.

Edward closed his eyes. The others had headed off to sleep as well, Jonathan included, who usually could stay up hours on end without even coffee to help him.

Around him, wood creaked and water dripped. It had been a factory once; Gotham held lots of old factories and forgotten businesses, little pieces of dreams long lost. Eventually, even those sounds faded away.

* * *

Jonathan had been pacing for hours, while Jervis stared off at the wall and Edward looked through his photos. There were plans, countless ones, and it seemed none of them could figure out which ones to execute.

Jonathan had originally suggested laying low, at least for a little while they contacted henchmen for supplies. It seemed their partnership wasn't as short lived as Edward had originally thought.

Still, he wanted to get to his own hide out as quickly as he could. He had things to do, people to see.

One in particular.

It was his most ridiculous plan of all, but the only one worth executing. Diamonds and jewels and money could be stolen at any time, at least once Edward had the right supplies, some help, and a few riddles to throw around. Someone had to keep the dark knight and the jewelry or museum owner busy.

If one of his henchmen could just bring a vehicle…

Edward looked around him. The place was awful now that he could see it in daylight, an old and forgotten place that only seemed to make the tired men inside look smaller. It was hardly a place that he wanted to bring Emily to.

He would have to at least get to his hideout first before he did anything.

Edward bit his lip. He reached out and grabbed a picture, the one that had bothered Jillian and Emily's teacher so much. He looked past the other girls to the one in the center, the one in the painted green suit.

At least she seemed to want to see him to.

* * *

There had been fists against his face; it had happened before and back then it had seemed inevitable to happen again. That was just how things had been. A broken nose and a black eye had been a daily part of his life.

He had never blamed his mother for leaving that, just running out one night when her husband had been especially violent and never returning. Still, he couldn't help but wish that she had at least taken his hand and pulled him along with her. Then he wouldn't have been facing his father then, all red faced and wide eyed. His fist was raised and he looked ready to strike at any moment.

Edward stepped back. There was no point in punching him back; he couldn't defend himself with his fists to save his life. Still, he had a brain, and that was something he had doubted many times that his father had. It was time that Edward started using his.

* * *

Edward shook his head. He needed to stop getting into deep conversation with Jonathan. Whenever he did he just made Edward think of things that were best not looking back on.

"Just stop," he said. "I don't want to think of him, not now."

"You were the one who brought up fatherhood." Jonathan replied.

It was a good thing that he had gotten his license revoked because Jonathan was a piss poor therapist, even if he could talk the talk.

"Look, I don't want to talk about how I feel."

"But you were doing just that talking about Emily."

"That's different." He looked to the ground. They were all going to start fighting sometime soon. That was the most probable thing anyway. They were just cooped up, still nervous about what the future held and yet high off of the rush of getting out of Arkham. Jervis had talked about a girl he had loved once, Alice or Allison or something, and had gone through the same therapist talk with Jonathan as well. Eventually, Jonathan was going to say something wrong, give some bad advice, and fists would fly. That was just how problems were solved between men like them.

It was too bad that Edward still wasn't the best with his fists. Now if he had his cane…

He sighed. "Jonathan, you know that my father and I are nothing alike. You've seen how Emily and I interact."

"I know," he replied. "Still, I can't help but wonder if the only reason that you had her was to try to make up for what happened, to prove yourself better."

"Can you quit with your Freud bullshit?" Edward closed his eyes. He really needed to get to his hideout.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow; Edward was beginning to like the scarecrow mask more and more the longer that Jonathan didn't have it on.

Jonathan held his hands together. "I suppose our session can end now. There are some things that you just don't feel like discussing now. Perhaps you'll open up to me another time."

Edward snorted. "I don't know why you even play that therapy game. What makes you want to listen to people whine all the time anyway?"

"What makes you want to ask them so many riddles?" He grinned. "I like to see how people think, take a step into their shoes. Though knowing their fears are wonderful, it's also fun just to see what goes on in their head, to get a chance to look into what they keep hidden inside their minds. It can actually be rather fun; perhaps you should consider trying it sometime, Eddie."

Oh yes, he really needed his cane.

* * *

Nearly everything was in order, back to the way that it should have been. It had taken a few weeks longer than expected, but that wasn't his fault. Now Edward just needed to take control again, to get one last thing fixed before everything would be the way that it was supposed to.

The school was larger than he had expected, and a whole swarm of kids left the building. Most seemed to blend in with one another, becoming a blur of chattering faces.

Edward turned his hat down lower over his face. Around him, other parents swarmed as they looked for their children. Words hung in the air, half finished sentences and shouts. People bumped past him, everyone in a rush like stampeding cattle or fish in a small too bowl.

He could do this. He had to.

He walked towards the buses, his eyes moving past everyone he saw. If he could just find her…

There were a few glimpses of red hair, but none were her, at least not yet. She had to be there somewhere; things had to work out for him.

He tightened his fists.

It's fine, he reminded himself. His heart beat faster against his chest. I just have to find her, that's all.

And he would, there was no question about it.

Focus, he reminded himself.

His eyes wandered the group of children once more. There was a pattern to this, he'd just have to find it. Edward continued looking, surveying the passing children as best he could.

The youngest children stood near the left side of the front doors, near their teachers. Wading past the group of fourth and fifth graders, he headed towards there.

He was halfway there when he finally noticed her. She stood beside two other girls, a thin one who looked a bit tall for her age, and a black girl with a head of curly hair. All three were dressed in bright neon colors and clutching backpacks.

"Emily!" he called, struggling to get his voice to rise over the crowd of children and parents. This was louder than Arkham whenever all the inmates got sent out to the courtyard for their weekly outdoor exercise. "Emily!"

She looked up the second time. For a moment, she hesitated, her eyes searching the crowd. Edward pushed his hat up.

For a moment she stood still, eyes wide and hand clutching her backpack. One of the girls asked her something but she didn't reply.

Then she was moving, running as fast as her small legs could carry her. The two met in the middle, her arms wrapping around him. She stood barely above his waist. Though she was still small, it was still easy to see their resemblance. She shot him a toothy grin.

"Daddy?" she asked.

He grinned. "The one and only."

He expected her to speak up again, to ask another question. Instead, she just smiled and grabbed his hand.

"So how was your day?" Edward asked as the two headed towards his car. The two melted easily into the crowd of children and parents.

"I got to read out loud to my class," she said, "and feed Mrs. Ramirez's hamster."

"It didn't try to bite your finger off, did you?"

Emily chuckled. "No, Speedy is a nice hamster. He runs on his wheel all day and loves little carrot pieces. I also played kickball with Natia and Jamie."

The two continued on towards the car, Emily recounting her day. Edward could only picture part of it in his mind, the other half the parts that he couldn't see. He doubted that he would be going to parent-teacher conventions any time soon, at least not until he was (officially) cleared from Arkham, and he wasn't about to go back to get that done. Still, information was powerful.

Information was enough.

"How many teeth have you lost?"

"Four!" Emily grinned. "One is coming back in."

"Four? Soon the dentist won't have anything to clean."

"I have a loose one!" She held a finger up to a tooth and began to wiggle it.

Edward grinned. "Your teeth just seem to be falling out of you."

The grey car he was using was old and worn from past accidents that he could only imagine. If anyone asked, it was a rental. The inside wasn't dirty, nothing covering the seats or carpeted floor, but it wasn't the newest either. Signs of age showed on it.

You can get better later, he reminded himself. What's Emily to care?

The two sat down. Edward locked the doors and started the car. It was only then had he looked over to the back seat, to where Emily sat on the humped seat in the middle. Her smile had faded.

"Daddy, where have you been?" Before he could begin to try and answer, she spoke again. "Why does everyone at school say that the place you went is for bad guys? Why do all the newspaper say that you're a bad guy?"

He had known this moment would come sooner or later. It was inevitable, especially for someone in his kind of lifestyle. Still, he hadn't expected to have to explain himself in the crowded parking lot of Emily's school in a car so junky that he doubted that anyone had bothered to report it as stolen.

"Emily, do you think that I'm a bad guy? Do you believe those newspapers?"

There was silence for a moment.

"No," she finally said.

"That's the thing, Emily," Edward said, looking back to her for a moment. He turned his head around and sighed. "Sometimes people like to paint others as bad just to make themselves look good."

"So the newspaper people are bad people?"

"Well, I suppose." Considering the quality of some recent Gotham Gazette articles it was good as true. He had known that the city was going to hell, but it was a shame that all the quality, nuanced journalists had all gone with it.

"Then why did you go to that place?"

"I went to Ar-" He stopped himself. "I went to that place because people wanted to get rid of me. Believe it or not, not everyone likes me."

"Why?"

He bit his lip. "When I say this, I need you to understand that I am serious. Emily, some people aren't as smart as me, as us. They don't see things our way so they get scared." He paused for a moment, thinking back. "You mentioned in a phone call a while before that some kids at school made fun of you for getting a bunch of math problems correct, yes?"

"Yes." Her voice turned low.

"Well, the same thing has happened to me, but over different things. Things that I got right, that I understood, but that others couldn't." He turned near a light and began to slow as it turned yellow. "But you understand, don't you?"

"Yes, Daddy."

The silence returned.

"I have a riddle for you."

From the corner of his eyes, Emily grinned. "What?"

"One that will really stump you." He smirked. "Think you can figure it out?"

"Yes, yes!"

"I believe you. Still, it's a little hard."

"Tell me!" She began to jiggle in her seat. "Tell me!"

"Okay," he said, "if you insist. You can find me just about anywhere, but it depends on whether or not you want to see me. When you see me, you see a person, but they're not always there. What am I?"

Emily wrinkled her eyebrows.

"You don't need to figure it out now. Take your time and think it over." Right then, he had all the time in the world to wait for an answer.


End file.
